


Hand of Fate

by Zannolin



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Adam believes in aliens, Flirting, Galra Keith (Voltron), M/M, You'll see soon, don't wanna spoil it - Freeform, keith is a mood ring, krolia with a shotgun, more characters and tags to be added, not quite canon, this has been a work in progress for over a year now
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2020-12-28 16:10:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21139478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zannolin/pseuds/Zannolin
Summary: "Are you okay?" Keith asks, concerned."Oh, you know, it's just my roommate is half-alien and a giant blue robo-cat likes me," Lance says, his chuckle bordering the line of hysterical. "Why wouldn't I be fine?"





	1. There's a War Going On Out There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Keith is a mood ring and Lance.exe has stopped working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has been my brainchild for over a year. I wanted to wait until it was finished to start posting, but frankly, I don't have any motivation when no one is reading it. So we're giving this a shot. The tags will be updated later, but I am truly curious to see what y'all's theories are on what exactly this verse is.

So maybe Keith Kogane isn’t Lance’s best friend. 

Or even a _ friend_, really. 

How you could be roommates with someone and not know them _ fairly _ well from it, Lance has never been able to say. Six years in the same class at Galaxy Garrison, the past two of them rooming together, and he still has trouble getting a read on the guy’s moods -- though, most of the time, Lance can file them under “emo” or “annoyed”. 

So, no, Keith is not his friend, though not for want of effort on Lance’s part. 

But that doesn’t mean Lance can’t tell from a mile away when something’s up. For the past week, it has been one thing after another. On Tuesday, Keith would have overslept if Lance hadn’t pulled him out of bed (generally, it’s the other way around). Wednesday he missed their astrophysics class. And today - Friday - he nearly failed the simulator. 

_ The Garrison’s star pilot, botching the simulator? _

Not likely. 

And furthermore, Lance has noticed the change in the other boy’s movements - a sort of stiffness, as if he’s in pain. Pain bad enough to make him exhausted, miss classes, fail (or very nearly so) an exercise he perfected months ago. 

Friend or foe, no one should suffer that much, especially not alone. 

That’s why Lance now tails Keith down the gray, featureless halls of the Galaxy Garrison, heading toward their dorm room. He’s not exactly _ sneaking —_ there are other people in the corridors, and it _ is _ his room too — but he still waits a few heartbeats before he enters the room. The lights are dim, and Lance nearly trips over Keith’s discarded bag. He hears a low groan, but because of the way the dorms are set up, he can’t see the other boy’s bed. Another pained hiss, as if sucked through clenched teeth, and a soft _ whump _as the shirt of Keith’s uniform is tossed to the floor. 

“Hey, man,” Lance says, feeling awkward as he steps forward. “Is something wrong? Are you okay? 'Cause—”

His words die in his throat as he fully enters their room and catches sight of Keith, frozen and huddled on his bed like a terrified animal. 

“_Holy crow_,” Lance breathes, because Keith is turning purple.

All across his bare chest and arms, large patches of his skin are stark violet.

_ Are they bruises? _ Lance wonders, staring in shock. 

“Wha-” he tries to ask, but before he can get a word out, Keith has exploded off the bed and clapped his hand over Lance’s mouth, the other gripping the back of his neck to hold him still. 

“Lance, you can’t say _ anything _ about this. _ Not a word._”

The genuine fear and panic in Keith’s eyes is enough to jerk Lance out of his whirling confusion, give him pause. 

He tries to speak, but Keith’s palm is still smashed against his lips. Despite this, Lance’s resulting noise of protest is still discernible. He has to resist the temptation to lick at the offending hand. Keith seems to realize how close they’re standing - practically nose to nose. Close enough that Lance can see blotches of purple on his neck, just barely concealed under the edges of his hair. Slowly, the cornered animal look fades; not completely, but by and large Keith seems calmer as he drops his hands and steps away a pace. 

“Keith, what’s going on?” Lance asks, choosing his words carefully. “Are you in trouble? Are those...bruises?”

But even as he asks, he knows the discolored patches aren’t bruises; they’re too uniform, all the same color, edges fading too evenly into Keith’s pale skin. It’s as if someone’s taken a paintbrush and randomly added splashes of purple watercolor, then carefully blended it out.

Though, as he stares at the other boy, waiting for a reply, Lance could swear he sees the purple growing. 

Finally, Keith stops chewing his lip and responds.

“They’re...not bruises, no. But yeah, I guess you could say I’m in trouble.”

He snorts at his own words and sinks down on the bed, raking a hand through his hair.

“The whole _ universe _ is in trouble,” Keith mutters after a moment.

Lance blinks, hard. “Did you just say-”

“Just sit down,” Keith sighs. He drags a hand down the side of his face, looking so exhausted that Lance feels even more sorry for the guy. 

He sits on his own unmade bunk, splaying his fingers on the rumpled sheets as he waits expectantly for some sort of explanation to make sense of this bizarre situation. The other boy drops his head into his hands, massaging his temples, and silence invades the dim room. It presses at Lance, squeezing til his questions threaten to come bursting out in one great mass. Just as he feels he might rupture, Keith finally speaks.

And the words that come out of his mouth are the last Lance expected to hear. 

“I’m so sorry,” Keith says. “I never meant to get other people involved in..._ this._”

He waves a hand at the discoloration splashed across his bare chest, which, Lance is sure now, is slowly spreading. 

“What’s ‘this’?” Lance asks, not waiting for Keith to elaborate at all. “And why don’t you want anyone else to know?”

“Because anyone who knows - knows _ any _ of this - is in danger. You’re involved now, and there’s nothing I can do to change that.”

He hasn’t answered Lance’s first (and more important) question, but he look so miserable that Lance can hardly push him. 

Or maybe that’s just what he needs.

"D’you mind explaining to me _ why _ I’m in danger, and _ what _ I’m involved in?” Lance demands.

“War,” Keith snaps. “There’s a war going on, and I’m part of it, and now, by extension, so are you.”

_Ah, there’s the Keith I don’t really know._

“A _ war_?” Lance replies, trying not to sound incredulous. “Last I checked, Earth was pretty much at peace, unless you count Iverson trying to teach a class. Now _ that’s—_”

Keith’s harsh laugh cuts him short. Despite the apparent rudeness, Lance can sense a sort of brittleness underneath, as if Keith is struggling to hold everything together.

It’s worrying.

“Earth?” Keith’s voice pulls him out of his split-second reverie. “It’s not on Earth, Lance. Not yet. There’s a war going on in the rest of the universe. Maybe not in the strictest sense, but it’s definitely a war to some of us.”

Lance had never expected his world could be so violently upturned in fewer than a hundred words. His mind whirls, struggling to comprehend _ exactly _ what his roommate has just disclosed.

“S-so, by the rest of the universe….you mean…”

He can’t say it. Nope. 

But he doesn’t have to. 

“Aliens, Lance. I mean the species inhabiting the rest of a _ very _ large universe. Species that…” Keith trails away, eyes fixed on a small patch of discoloration inside his right elbow. He swallows hard, blinking rapidly.

If he were anyone else, Lance would probably hug him. But Keith is...Keith.

Exhaling sharply through his nose, Keith seems to gather his courage. His dark eyes seek out Lance’s gaze. 

“Species that I’m a part of,” he admits in a barely-audible, somewhat strangled voice.

Lance blinks. 

And blinks again.

As the magnitude of what Keith — his _ freaking roommate —_ has just told him sinks in, coupled with the overall absurdity of the past quarter of an hour’s events, Lance flops backward to sprawl on his messy bunk.

_ Aliens. War. An alien war. And Keith. Keith...Keith is—_

“Oh, God, you didn’t - pass out, did you?” the other boy asks. For a guy who just broke Lance’s higher cognitive functions and apparently involved him in a war, he sounds surprisingly legitimately concerned.

Lance turns his head to better view his _ non-human _ roommate, who is currently surveying him, worried, with those big, dark eyes—

“You say that like it’s a _ bad _thing,” he replies tartly. “I’m sure normal people faint when their brains break!”

Keith flinches slightly at the phrase “normal people” and Lance mentally kicks himself.

_ Nice choice of words, dumbass. _

“Fortunately for you,” he scrambles to amend, “_I'm _ not normal. I’m too awesome to faint.”

That brings a faint smile tugging at the corners of Keith’s lips, flooring Lance. Has he ever once, in these past six years, seen the great Keith Kogane smile? _ Genuinely _ smile, not a smug smirk or a sarcastic grin?

He can’t recall if he has.

Then Lance realizes he’s staring.

“So…” he begins, shifting to lie on his side, willing himself _ not _ to flush with embarrassment. “You’re saying you’re an alien?” Surprising, how easily the ridiculous sentence falls from his lips without a trace of sarcasm.

Keith rakes his hand through his hair again — a nervous tic. His raven locks are already disheveled, giving him the appearance of a startled cat. 

“I’m _ half _ alien,” he corrects. “My dad is — _was _. He was human.”

Lance pretends not to notice the slip. “And your mom—”

“She’s Galra. Alien.” He draws his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms loosely around them. Maybe it’s the dim lighting or the exhaustion apparent in every taut line of Keith’s body, but he seems much younger than usual, unsure.

“So that’s why you’re, y’know, turning purple?” Lance asks tentatively.

_God_. What an absurd question.

“Yeah. The Galra are generally purple. She’s the only one of her — _our — _kind to come to Earth. She and my dad didn’t even know if they could _ have _ kids, if that was genetically possible. Then I came along, and I looked totally human. We figured if my Galra genes were going to manifest physically, it would happen by the time I was eighteen, when Galrans stop growing. But I turned eighteen six months ago. I thought I was in the clear….and then _ this _ happened.”

Keith’s head _ thuds _ back against the wall, making Lance wince. 

“I think that’s the most words you’ve ever spoken to me at one time,” he says, trying to lighten the mood. “Which is ridiculous.”

“_You’re _ ridiculous,” snorts Keith.

“Seriously!” Lance insists, slapping an open palm down on the mattress. “My roommate, Galaxy Garrison’s _ star pilot,_ is finally talking to me, and it’s because he’s an alien changing colors like he’s a — a _ mood ring _ or something!”

Ignoring the mood ring comment, Keith leans forward slightly, arms still around his knees. “You’re a fairly good pilot yourself, you know.”

“You,” Lance says, jabbing a finger in his direction, “are making it very hard to be mad at you." 

“What?”

“You’re _ supposed _ to be an asshole so I can be justifiably angry that you dragged me into some — some intergalactic conflict. But you _ aren’t_.”

Keith cocks his head. The faint light sneaking in through the closed shades traces the curve of his neck.

“_Are _ you mad at me?”

Lance contemplates this. “No.”

The other boy is silent for a few heartbeats before he abruptly uncurls himself and climbs off the bed. 

“Okay. Get changed.” 

Lance is befuddled. “Why?”

“Because I doubt you’ll want to wear your uniform all weekend.”

The lanky boy levers himself upright, gaze focused on Keith’s turned back, the lavender stark against pale skin. “Are we going somewhere?”

Keith glances back over his shoulder as he crosses to the dresser. “Well, I got you involved in an intergalactic conflict. I owe you some answers, right?” 

“Right,” Lance affirms, drawing the word out skeptically. 

“So I’m taking you to meet my mom.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's all for now! The second chapter is done and I'm working on the third, so I guess we'll see where it goes in the future. You can find my on my Instagram (@zannolin) or my Tumblr (@zannatinuviel). Links aren't working right now, sorry!


	2. We Can Take This Leap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Adam is teasing, and Lance didn't ask for this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY HO I am SO sorry for taking so long on this. I've had this chapter written for almost a YEAR now but I wanted to finish chapter three before I published (which I still have not done) and then I had trips and work and college and I got into BNHA and everything has been insanely wild, and the only reason I have time to post this NOW is because my school has me stuck at home thanks to the coronavirus. So, enjoy, stay safe, wash your hands, and I hope this isn't as bad as I feel like it is.

“I thought we were supposed to have special permission to leave the Garrison grounds if it isn’t a holiday?” Lance queries, adjusting his backpack strap to a more comfortable position as he follows Keith out into the corridor.

“Yep,” Keith replies. He offers, infuriatingly, no further explanation, just tugs at the collar of his newly-donned jacket.

The ridiculous thing is _way_ too large for someone as lean as Keith, with long, bordering on floppy sleeves and a high collar. But despite the utter lack of fashion, it has the perfect functionality for this situation; the sleeves cover the purple on Keith’s arms, and the collar shields his neck better than his mullet can.

Keith leads him down the halls to the faculty offices. Outside of the occasional tongue-lashing in Iverson’s office, Lance has never been here. The closest he’s come is the instructor’s lounge, when he and Hunk snuck in to raid their snacks, which were _unfairly_ superior to anything the refectory had available. _Criminal, _if you asked Lance.

Keith pulls his phone from his pocket, checking the time. “Okay, good. We should be able to catch him when everyone else is headed to dinner.” 

Before Lance can ask, “Catch _ who_?” Keith grabs his wrist and pulls him through one of the doors lining the hall. 

It’s a small, spare office. It looks, quite honestly, just as Lance expects the office of a Galaxy Garrison professor to look — uniform, with little embellishment past the typical computer and coaster for coffee mug, both atop a sleek desk. There is, however, a bookshelf crammed with books of various sizes. On top of the shelves sit a teapot and a houseplant; these, at least, add some personality.

Behind the desk sits a man with a mop of brown hair and skin the color of a mocha, peering intently through his glasses at something on his computer screen. He looks vaguely familiar to Lance; he’s probably a flight instructor or a teacher he hasn’t had much. The man’s name is somewhere in the back of Lance’s mind — Mr….Walters? Washington? Something with a ‘W’.

“Hey, Adam,” Keith says easily, looking more relaxed than Lance has ever seen him. 

_ “Adam”? They must know each other or something. _

Adam starts, glancing up from his screen. Seeing Keith, his face breaks into a smile.

“Good evening, Keith,” he replies, pushing his glasses up his nose. His eyes flick to Lance, then to Keith’s fingers, locked around Lance’s wrist. “And...Lance, is it?”

The corners of his smile twitch in an amused fashion. Lance can feel heat inexplicably creeping up his neck and face. 

“Yes, sir,” he says.

Adam waves a dismissive hand. “Just Adam is fine. I’m technically off-duty.” He sits back, lacing his fingers together. “So, Keith” — that slight amused sparkle is back again — “did you come to introduce your boyfriend?” 

Keith coughs, turning tomato red and dropping Lance’s wrist instantly. Lance, equally mortified, casts his gaze anywhere but Keith and tries to quell the brilliant flush he feels by pure will. His eyes land back on the plant, and he notices a small sticker surreptitiously affixed to the plastic pot, almost obscured beneath the tangle of yellow-green leaves. It reads, _“The aliens believe in you too.”_

_ Oh, the irony. _

Beside him, Keith seems to have recovered somewhat.

“He’s not — _we’re_ not — Lance isn’t my boyfriend,” he stammers out, face still red. “I just needed permission to leave for the weekend. He’s coming. Can I take a hoverbike?”

Adam raises an eyebrow, but nods nonetheless. “Send my regards to your mother, will you?”

Lance’s eyes flicker back to Keith. _ Does he know? _

But Keith only nods. “Thanks,” he says softly as Adam returns his attention to his computer. Lance follows him out of the office, even more unanswered questions filling his brain and tickling his tongue.

* * *

Lance manages to restrain himself until they’re walking down the stairs — _why_ they couldn’t just take the elevator is beyond him — to the garages. The stairwell is echoing and empty; there’s practically no chance of someone running into them now, at this time of day. 

“So…” Lance ventures, unsure what to ask first, or if Keith will even answer him at all. He’s like a ninja at avoiding questions.

Keith glances back at him, boots tapping on the concrete steps. “So?”

“...Adam?”

Keith raises one dark brow. “Yeah?”

“I mean, you call him _Adam,_ not _Professor_ or _Mr….Whatever_, or anything.”

The other boy pauses his descent, looking thoughtful. Lance stops as well, watching him. Finally, a shrug.

“He helped me out when I first got here,” Keith says quietly, toeing the cement. “I...had some discipline issues. This kid, from my school, he—” suddenly, Keith shakes his head. “It’s not important. Another time.”

Lance can’t help but get the feeling that anything which could bring Keith close enough to a teacher nearly a decade his senior to call him by his first name _ is _ important, but he decides to let it go.

Keith shrugs again, folding his arms, but it looks more to Lance like he’s hugging himself.

“He’s been there for me. He’s...like a brother, I guess.”

“Does he know about your mom? The whole a—”

Just like that, Keith’s hand is over Lance’s mouth again. _ Next time this happens, _ Lance promises himself, _ I’m licking it. _

Keith shakes his head once, firmly. Lance quirks an eyebrow. The other boy mouths something, but really, Lance can’t read lips to save his life. He blinks uncomprehendingly, and Keith sighs in exasperation. He removes his palm from the lower half of Lance’s face and instead grabs his left hand.

“Just come on,” Keith mutters, tugging Lance down the steps once more. 

Lance tries very hard not to think about the fact that a very pretty boy is technically holding his hand, even it it _ is _ due to extenuating circumstances. 

To be honest, he isn’t sure if he should be annoyed with or grateful to said extenuating circumstances.

* * *

Finally, they push through a door at the foot of the stairs and enter the garages - a massive hangar-type space for cars, hoverbikes, and the new AW cruisers.

This is the realm of the mechanics, grease monkeys, and aspiring engineers. Despite it being dinnertime, the huge room echoes with the purr of engines and chatter as people come, go, and tinker. The whole place is cast in an odd orange hue from the setting sun’s light, flooding in through the many open doors at the far end of the garages.

Under the bustle, Keith leans in and whispers in Lance’s ear.

“Sorry. There are cameras.”

Oh.

_ Oh. _

Lance feels like an idiot. Of _ course _ there are cameras. That’s how he’s been caught sneaking off Garrison property multiple times. Pidge is helping him assemble a timetable and map of the cameras, but only when they feel like it — and neither of them has bothered to go poking around the stairwells much. Not with Hunk keeping them under control. (And anyway, Pidge just straight-up _hacks_ the cameras when they want to leave.)

At the thought of his friends, Lance chews his lip. No doubt they’ll wonder where he’s gone, but it’s too late to do anything now.

He’ll just have to improvise some story when he gets back.

“Come on,” Keith calls from a few paces away, a silhouette in the dusky light. Hefting his backpack, Lance jogs to catch up.

Keith leads him over to the neat rows of hoverbikes, choosing one with slightly chipped paint and a lived-in feel. He produces an orange-and-white keycard from his jeans’ pocket and swipes it over the panel on the inhibitor. The device, meant to disable vehicles' engines unless deactivated with proper clearance, have always foiled Lance's dreams of sneaking out on joyrides. The device hums, clicks, and snaps off the hoverbike. Keith sticks it into a nearby bin.

“Since when can students get unrestricted access to vehicles?” Lance asks, eyeing the card, more than a little jealous.

Keith shakes his head. “It’s not unrestricted. I have to get faculty permission, and they remotely activate the card’s chip through the Garrison system.”  
  
“Oh.”

_ Still. _

“I bet Pidge could hack it,” Lance muses.

Keith pops open a storage compartment on the bike and slings his bag in. “You mean that wicked smart kid who skipped, like, two levels?” he asks distractedly, rummaging to emerge holding a pair of goggles.

“Three levels, actually. And yeah, them.” 

Lance shoves his pack in with Keith’s and closes the hatch. The other boy pulls on the goggles but pushes them up his forehead, lifting his bangs off his face. It makes him look utterly ridiculous. It’s all Lance can do to hold in a snort of laughter. 

Mounting the bike, Keith reaches a hand down to help Lance up. As he takes it, something catches his eye.

“Your hand’s going mood ring,” Lance says, tapping the palm before settling behind him.

He can’t see Keith’s expression, but the muttered curse he hears provides a pretty good mental image. Keith tugs on a pair of fingerless gloves, pulls his goggles down, and cranks the hoverbike’s engine to life.

“You might want to hold on,” he calls over the noise. “There aren’t seatbelts, and it’ll get a little rough.”

_ Hold on to _what? Lance wonders. The only thing to _hold on to_ is Keith.

“Um…”

“As in hold on to _ me_, dimwit,” says Keith, but there’s no malice behind the insult. Just — a sort of tentative playfulness Lance is _sure_ wasn’t there before today.

“What about...I mean…” he gropes for words.

Keith twists to look at him and Lance jerks back at the sudden proximity of their faces. The golden-red light of the sunset washes over him, making him appear like some sort of superhero in those goggles and ridiculous jacket collar, wreathed in a dim corona of flames.

“Is it going to...hurt you…?” Lance asks lamely.

Keith’s mouth tightens momentarily. “The pain comes and goes,” he replies, voice so soft Lance can barely hear him. “I’m okay right now.”

He turns back forward and Lance wordlessly loops his arms around Keith’s waist.

_ Dang, he’s even skinnier than me_, is all Lance has time to think before Keith guns the engine and they zoom out of the garages faster than is advisable.

* * *

The rocky desert terrain around Galaxy Garrison is ideal for launches, drills, and test flights. The closest Lance has ever really come to exploring the barren land would be occasional trips to nearby towns (several times staying at the Holts’ place) and one memorable excursion to Plaht City. But the craggy stretches of land surrounding the Garrison are so unlike Lance’s homeland of Cuba that just looking at it sometimes gives him a hollow ache. After six years here, the homesickness has dulled somewhat, especially since his older sister, Veronica, transferred to the Garrison, but sometimes...sometimes the ache rips into his chest more fiercely than a great white shark, taking bites out of his heart with iron jaws.

Despite this, Lance can hardly argue with the splendor of a desert sunset, or the spectacular array of stars visible out here, or the intoxicating scent of the ground after rain has fallen. As far as it is from his home, Arizona can be breathtaking in its own way.

Of course, he can’t appreciate any of that right now, considering how _ insanely _ fast Keith is pushing the bike.

So far, the terrain has mostly been flat and smooth, but occasionally, twists and ridges allow Lance glimpses of why it is Keith Kogane who is Galaxy Garrison’s top pilot, and not Lance McClain. Even when he shows off in training, Lance is beginning to think, Keith isn’t really even pushing himself.

How irritating.

They’ve been speeding along for ten minutes or so in the dying light and the roughest it has gotten is strands of Keith’s hair whipping at Lance’s face. Lance begins to wonder if Keith has a very _ different _ idea of “rough” than he does.

And then Keith guides the bike onto a path of narrower ridges, still at a breakneck pace.

And that’s when Lance sees the cliff. 

For a moment it doesn’t register — an edge, and beyond, a huge swathe of desert, stretching away to a spectacular sunset.

Very

_very_

far

below.

“Keith,” Lance yelps, voice cracking. _ “Keith!” _

His hysteria only increases at Keith’s cheerful shout.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine! I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“_Keith! _ That is a _ cliff!” _

“Yup.”

And suddenly there isn’t anymore room for argument, because Keith has gunned the engine and they rocket over the edge, arcing up, forward, and…

..._down. _

Lance’s stomach, lungs, and voicebox are left someone near the top of the cliff; he can’t get a scream out, he can only lock his arms around Keith’s waist, squeeze his eyes shut, and bury his face in the other boy’s jacket, heedless of the hair snapping around his face.

_ Here lies Lance Mcclain, _ he thinks numbly. _ His half-alien roommate drove him off a cliff after getting him involved in a war. _

They’re falling, falling—

Until Keith blasts the thrusters again, pulling them up just feet shy of slamming mercilessly into the rocky ground. 

Lance would marvel at his handling of the hoverbike, except he’s currently trying to regain his internal organs and stop shaking so violently that Keith must feel it.

Keith cuts the engine and they drift to a smooth stop.

“You okay?” he asks, twisting slightly to glance back at Lance, who still has his face buried in Keith’s jacket.

_ Am I _ okay_? Sheesh, Keith. Was there no other way to get down that cliff than giving me a heart attack? __  
_

Lance, when his trembling has subsided somewhat, says something muffled by Keith’s shoulder.

“What?”

He peels his face out of Keith’s jacket and stares accusingly up at him. “I _ said_, I take it back.”

“Take what back?”

“That you aren’t an asshole,” Lance huffs. “I take it back. You’re the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.”

Keith laughs, eyes crinkling, cheeks flushed from the wind, and Lance tells himself his breathlessness results from the plunge off the cliff. He can’t help grinning, though. Keith’s laugh is infectious.

“Well, I can’t argue,” Keith says, once they both manage to stop laughing. “It’s about half an hour to my house from here. You good?”

Lance shifts on the bike, searching for a more comfortable position. “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

Keith restarts the bike and they speed forwards — _ hopefully_, Lance thinks, _ to some _answers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find my perpetually angsty self on [tumblr](https://zannatinuviel.tumblr.com/), [twitter](https://twitter.com/zannolin), and [instagram](https://www.instagram.com/zannolin/)!


End file.
